Alec

If I’m late for my 8:00 a.m. appointment with Tad Johnson, an investor from Utah, I’m blaming Levin. She had tossed and turned last night, and it had kept me awake. She must be anxious, as she’s only restless when she has something on her mind. Whatever the issue, it would have to wait. I would ask her later after I took care of business.

With my morning shower and shave complete, I exit the bathroom and find Levin perched on the bed wringing her hands.

I glance at my Breitling and then at her. Weird. It’s after 7:00 a.m. Typically, she works out with her trainer at 7:30 before heading to the animal shelter to save one more underprivileged beast from their demise.

The outfit was also off. She wasn’t wearing workout clothes today. Her clothing choice is suspect—no sign of Lululemon athleisure wear. The new tan Burberry handbag and flowered Alice + Olivia dress were much too dressy for even a casual day at the office. Levin didn’t work outside the home, so this was odd.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

Levin isn’t paying attention to me. She’s lost in her thoughts.

“Levin?” I snap my fingers.

She glances up shocked to see me standing in front of her. She swallows hard.

“What?” Her voice sounds small and far away even though I’m standing three inches from her face.

“I asked what you were doing.” I give her a hard stare exhaling through my nose. “You’re dressed like you’re skipping the gym today.” I reach down and grab her chin, “And I hope that isn’t the case. I know how irritable you get when you miss a day of Barre.”

Levin knows my strict requirements for any woman I date—especially my future bride. I require that she have a personal trainer and a nutritionist to prepare our meals.

Manicures, pedicures, and facials were a part of the lifestyle, and she never balked at the amount of time it took for her to learn how to apply her makeup just perfectly or have her hair blown out to my specifications. 

The fact of the matter is I love spoiling and dressing her up like a doll. She has a desirable figure—B-cup tits and a small waist with long legs. I have no problem taking credit for the woman she’s become. I also have no issue with improving upon her physique.

She’s my trophy, my most prized possession. Due to my line of work, it’s paramount that the woman on my arm reflects class and poise, and a certain, shall we say, richness. Exclusivity.

Exclusively mine, to be specific.

Her appearance must be custom-tailored to match my custom-made lifestyle.

“No gym this morning.” She fakes a yawn. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I could tell.” I smooth down her long, shiny, brunette hair. “You kept me up in the process.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, half-hearted, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re overdressed on a Monday.”

“I’m going to go have breakfast with a potential client.” Her voice is stilted.

“I thought we already discussed you working outside the house.” I pinch her cheek. “We decided no.”

“You decided that.” She rolls her eyes at me. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just a meeting.”

I didn’t like her tone, but I had to let it go. I gave her a warning look and stepped back. My meeting with some potential clients had me sidetracked, and that’s my priority this morning.

I couldn’t wait for the kill. 

“The thrill of the kill” had been my tagline since my earliest days in real estate. There was nothing that got me off more than closing deals. 

And the right woman.

Levin’s lying to me. I know it.

When someone lies to me, I love the art of catching them—the amusement as they trip over their words to try to find a new direction to take their dishonesty.

It isn’t as fun with my fiancée, especially when it involves her lying to me.

However, this would have to wait until later.

I switch topics since the conversation of her having a job outside the home is ridiculous. There’s no point in arguing it. I said no. My mind isn’t changing.

I decide on a new tactic.

“Baby?” I change the tone in my voice.

“Hmm?” She looks bothered.

“I have a thing tonight, a dinner. Bradshaw’s, 8:00 p.m. I need you there.”

“Tonight?” She frowns. “But you know I volunteer at the animal shelter on Mondays.”

Her and the damn animals of the world and her plans to save them all. 

“You can’t.” It comes out brusque, more so than intended. “I’ll have a driver pick you up at seven. If you have to volunteer, do it this morning, but change your outfit.”

“Client names?” She sighs.

“Tone.” I prod her. “This is what pays the bills and makes you look like a million bucks.”

Her face softens. She stands up from the bed.

I cup her neck and kiss her—once on the cheek and once on the mouth. She recoils.

What the fuck is going on? This moping around the house has got to stop. She’s got too much time on her hands. Time for the next progression in life.

“Yes, Al, I’ll be there.”

She knows calling me ‘Al’ is akin to calling me Alvin, my real name. 

Levin is trying to annoy me, but I don’t have the time or energy to engage, though the thought of rough sex crosses my mind.

I decide against it. There’s nothing like mixing passion and anger for heated and carnal desire, but money calls.

“Baby, get to the gym.” My hands circle her waist. “You need to release some tension…” I kiss her neck, “And don’t worry, I’ll release some for you later.”

I slap her tight ass and walk out of the bedroom.

Still, something is off. It’s not just her behavior that’s alarming—she can be moody at times like all women.

I realize as I grab an apple from the fridge that there are hardly any groceries left. Most of yesterday was spent at work, but grocery shopping was done by Levin for our week ahead on Sundays.

Clearly, she didn’t make it to the store. Our cook usually told her ahead of time what was needed for meal prep, and she would bring home the items for them to put together today.

That was odd.

I swipe my keys off the counter on my way out.

Heading into the garage, I notice a piece of our Louis Vuitton luggage is missing.

Weird.

Her Range Rover is unlocked. I check the backseat and trunk.

Nothing.

I didn’t have any idea why she would put luggage in my vehicle, but I open the trunk of my A7 for confirmation.

Still nothing.

I start to turn around and head back inside when my cell phone shrills, my 8:00 a.m. client’s name flashing across the screen.

Shit. I have to take this. The man is flying in from Utah to look at building a hospital on some prime real estate, and I stand to make a pretty penny if all goes well.

My pulse is pounding in my ear.

I hit the ‘accept’ button my phone, take a deep breath, and answer, a tension headache starting to build at the base of my neck.

Levin is up to something, and it’s no good.

If she wanted a head start, she’s going to get it.